Undone;.. for sins, not one of which is written In the Ten Commandments. He, I warrant him, Believed no other Gods than those of the Creed; Bow'd to no idols, . . but his money-bags; Swore no false oaths, except at the custom-house; Kept the Sabbath idle; built a monument To honour his dead father; did no murder; Never sustain'd an action for crim-con; Never pick'd pockets; never bore false-witness; And never, with that all-commanding wealth, Coveted his neighbour's house, nor ox, nor ass!
You knew him then it seems ?
As all men know The virtues of your hundred-thousanders; They never hide their lights beneath a bushel.
Nay, nay, uncharitable Sir! for often Doth bounty like a streamlet flow unseen, Freshening and giving life along its course.
We track the streamlet by the brighter green And livelier growth it gives; . . but as for this. . This was a pool that stagnated and stunk; The rains of heaven engendered nothing in it But slime and foul corruption.
Are reservoirs whence public charity Still keeps her channels full.
Now, Sir, you touch Upon the point. This man of half a million Had all these public virtues which you praise: But the poor man rung never at his door, And the old beggar, at the public gate, Who, all the summer long, stands hat in hand, He knew how vain it was to lift an eye To that hard face. Yet he was always found Among your ten and twenty pound subscribers, Your benefactors in the newspapers.
His alms were money put to interest
In the other world, . . donations to keep open A running charity account with heaven,.. Retaining fees against the Last Assizes, When, for the trusted talents, strict account Shall be required from all, and the old Arch-Lawyer Plead his own cause as plaintiff,
I must needs Believe you, Sir: . . these are your witnesses, These mourners here, who from their carriages Gape at the gaping crowd. A good March wind Were to be pray'd for now, to lend their eyes Some decent rheum; the very hireling mute Bears not a face more blank of all emotion Than the old servant of the family!
How can this man have lived, that thus his death Costs not the soiling one white handkerchief!
Who should lament for him, Sir, in whose heart Love had no place, nor natural charity? The parlour spaniel, when she heard his step, Rose slowly from the hearth, and stole aside With creeping pace; she never raised her eyes To woo kind words from him, nor laid her head Upraised upon his knee, with fondling whine. How could it be but thus ? Arithmetic Was the sole science he was ever taught; The multiplication-table was his Creed, His Pater-noster, and his Decalogue.
When yet he was a boy, and should have breathed The open air and sunshine of the fields, To give his blood its natural spring and play, He in a close and dusky counting-house Smoke-dried and sear'd and shrivell'd up his heart. So from the way in which he was train'd up His feet departed not; he toil'd and moil'd, Poor muck-worm! through his three-score years and And when the earth shall now be shovell'd on him, If that which served him for a soul were still Within its husk, 'twould still be dirt to dirt.
Yet your next newspapers will blazon him For industry and honourable wealth
Gets him no other praise. But come this way Some twelve months hence, and you will find his virtues Trimly set forth in lapidary lines,
Faith with her torch beside, and little Cupids Dropping upon his urn their marble tears.
TOLL on, toll on, old Bell! I'll neither pass The cold and weary hour in heartless rites, Nor doze away the time. The fire burns bright, And, bless the maker of this Windsor-Chair! (Of polish'd cherry, elbow'd, saddle-seated,) This is the throne of comfort. I will sit
And study here devoutly: . . not my Euclid, . . For Heaven forbid that I should discompose That Spider's excellent geometry!
I'll study thee, Puss! Not to make a picture, I hate your canvass cats and dogs and fools, Themes that disgrace the pencil. Thou shalt give A moral subject, Puss. Come, look at me ; .. Lift up thine emerald eyes! Ay, purr away! For I am praising thee, I tell thee, Puss, And Cats as well as Kings like flattery. For three whole days I heard an old Fur-gown Bepraised, that made a Duke a Chancellor; Bepraised in prose it was, bepraised in verse; Lauded in pious Latin to the skies; Kudos'd egregiously in heathen Greek; In sapphics sweetly incensed; glorified In proud alcaics; in hexameters
Applauded to the very Galleries
That did applaud again, whose thunder-claps, Higher and longer with redoubling peals Rung, when they heard the illustrious furbelow'd Heroically in Popean rhyme
Tee-ti-tum'd, in Miltonic blank bemouth'd;
Prose, verse, Greek, Latin, English, rhyme and blank, Apotheosi-chancellor'd in all,
Till Eulogy, with all her wealth of words, Grew bankrupt, all-too-prodigal of praise, And panting Panegyric toil'd in vain O'er-task'd in keeping pace with such desert.
That wanton'd in the joy of kittenhood.
Ay, stretch thy claws, thou democratic beast,.. I like thine independence. Treat thee well, Thou art as playful as young Innocence; But if we act the governor, and break
The social compact, Nature gave those claws And taught thee how to use them. Man, methinks, Master and slave alike, might learn from thee A salutary lesson: but the one
Abuses wickedly his power unjust,
The other crouches spaniel-like, and licks The hand that strikes him. Wiser animal,
I look at thee, familiarised, yet free; And, thinking that a child with gentle hand Leads by a string the large-limb'd Elephant, With mingled indignation and contempt Behold his drivers goad the biped beast.
A DELICATE pinch! oh how it tingles up The titillated nose, and fills the eyes And breast, till in one comfortable sneeze The full-collected pleasure bursts at last! Most rare Columbus! thou shalt be for this The only Christopher in my Kalendar. Why but for thee the uses of the Nose Were half unknown, and its capacity
Of joy. The summer gale that from the heath, At midnoon glowing with the golden gorse, Bears its balsamic odour, but provokes Not satisfies the sense; and all the flowers, That with their unsubstantial fragrance tempt And disappoint, bloom for so short a space, That half the year the Nostrils would keep Lent, But that the kind tobacconist admits No winter in his work; when Nature sleeps His wheels roll on, and still administer A plenitude of joy, a tangible smell.
What are Peru and those Golcondan mines To thee, Virginia? miserable realms, The produce of inhuman toil, they send Gold for the greedy, jewels for the vain. But thine are common comforts! . . To omit Pipe-panegyric and tobacco-praise,
Think what the general joy the snuff-box gives, Europe, and far above Pizarro's name Write Raleigh in thy records of renown! Him let the school-boy bless if he behold
His master's box produced, for when he sees The thumb and finger of Authority
Stufft up the nostrils: when hat, head, and wig Shake all; when on the waistcoat black, brown dust, From the oft-reiterated pinch profuse Profusely scatter'd, lodges in its folds,
And part on the magistral table lights,
Part on the open book, soon blown away, Full surely soon shall then the brow severe Relax; and from vituperative lips
Words that of birch remind not, sounds of praise, And jokes that must be laugh'd at, shall proceed. Westbury, 1799.
Upon this turnpike road, and I'll convert him With no inquisitorial argument
But thy own fires. Now woe be to me, wretch, That I was in a heretic country born!
Else might some mass for the poor souls that bleach,
And burn away the calx of their offences
In that great Purgatory crucible,
Help me. O Jupiter! my poor complexion !
I am made a copper-Indian of already! And if no kindly cloud will parasol me,
My very cellular membrane will be changed,.. I shall be negrofied.
O what a sweet cool sound!
'Tis very nectar! It runs like life through every strengthen'd limb! Nymph of the stream, now take a grateful prayer. 1799.
Oh what a joy, to be a seal and flounder
On an ice island! or to have a den
With the white bear, cavern'd in polar snow! It were a comfort to shake hands with Death, .. He has a rare cold hand! to wrap one's self In the gift shirt Dejanira sent,
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, just to keep The sun off; or toast cheese for Beelzebub,.. That were a cool employment to this journey Along a road whose white intensity Would now make platina uncongealable Like quicksilver.
Were it midnight, I should walk Self-lanthorn'd, saturate with sunbeams. Jove! O gentle Jove! have mercy, and once more Kick that obdurate Phoebus out of heaven; Give Boreas the wind-cholic till he roar For cardamum, and drink down peppermint, Making what's left as precious as Tokay; Send Mercury to salivate the sky Till it dissolve in rain. O gentle Jove ! But some such little kindness to a wretch Who feels his marrow spoiling his best coat,.. Who swells with calorique as if a Prester Had leaven'd every limb with poison-yeast; . Lend me thine eagle just to flap his wings And fan me, and I will build temples to thee, And turn true Pagan.
Not a cloud nor breeze, .. O you most heathen Deities! if ever
JACOB! I do not like to see thy nose Turn'd up in scornful curve at yonder Pig. It would be well, my friend, if we, like him, Were perfect in our kind!.. And why despise The sow-born grunter? . . He is obstinate, Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast That banquets upon offal. ... Now I pray you Hear the Pig's Counsel.
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words; We must not take them as unheeding hands Receive base money at the current worth, But with a just suspicion try their sound, And in the even balance weigh them well. See now to what this obstinacy comes: A poor mistreated, democratic beast, He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek Their profit, and not his. He hath not learnt That Pigs were made for Man,.. born to be brawn'd And baconized: that he must please to give
Just what his gracious masters please to take; Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave For self-defence, the general privilege; Perhaps,.. hark Jacob! dost thou hear that horn? Woe to the young posterity of pork ! Their enemy is at hand.
Again. Thou say'st The Pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him! Those eyes have taught the Lover flattery. His face,.. nay Jacob, Jacob! were it fair To judge a Lady in her dishabille ? Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged. Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that The wanton hop marries her stately spouse : So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love. And what is beauty but the aptitude
Of parts harmonious? Give thy fancy scope, And thou wilt find that no imagined change Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glories of the Peacock's pride, Give him the Swan's white breast; for his horn-hoofs Shape such a foot and ankle as the waves Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss
When Venus from the enamour'd sea arose; .. Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him! All alteration man could think, would mar His Pig-perfection.
The last charge,.. he lives A dirty life. Here I could shelter him With noble and right reverend precedents, And show by sanction of authority That 'tis a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest On better ground the unanswerable defence. The Pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt?.. Jacob, what is dirt? If matter,.. why the delicate dish that tempts An o'ergorged Epicure to the last morsel That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more. If matter be not, but as Sages say, Spirit is all, and all things visible Are one, the infinitely modified,
Think, Jacob, what that Pig is, and the mire Wherein he stands knee-deep!
And there the breeze Pleads with me, and has won thee to a smile That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise. Westbury, 1799.
And I'll be sworn there's not a fellow here Who would not swear 'twere hanging blasphemy To doubt that truth. Therefore as thou wert born, Bruin for Man, and Man makes nothing of thee In any other way, . . . most logically
It follows, thou wert born to make him sport; That that great snout of thine was form'd on purpose To hold a ring; and that thy fat was given thee For an approved pomatum !
To demur Were heresy. And politicians say, (Wise men who in the scale of reason give No foolish feelings weight,) that thou art here Far happier than thy brother Bears who roam O'er trackless snow for food; that being born Inferior to thy leader, unto him
Rightly belongs dominion; that the compact Was made between ye, when thy clumsy feet First fell into the snare, and he gave up His right to kill, conditioning thy life Should thenceforth be his property; . . besides, 'Tis wholesome for thy morals to be brought From savage climes into a civilized state, Into the decencies of Christendom. . . . Bear! Bear! it passes in the Parliament For excellent logic this! What if we say How barbarously Man abuses power? Talk of thy baiting, it will be replied, Thy welfare is thy owner's interest,
But were thou baited it would injure thee, Therefore thou art not baited. For seven years Hear it, O Heaven, and give ear, O Earth ! For seven long years, this precious syllogism Hath baffled justice and humanity!
RECOMMENDED TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE SLAVE
RARE music! I would rather hear cat-courtship Under my bed-room window in the night, Than this scraped catgut's screak. Rare dancing too! Alas, poor Bruin! How he foots the pole And waddles round it with unwieldy steps, Swaying from side to side! . . The dancing-master Hath had as profitless a pupil in him
As when he would have tortured my poor toes To minuet grace, and made them move like clockwork In musical obedience. Bruin! Bruin! Thou art but a clumsy biped!.. And the mob With noisy merriment mock his heavy pace,
NAY, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas, There is a maggot there, . . it is his house,.. His castle,.. oh commit not burglary! Strip him not naked,. . 'tis his clothes, his shell, His bones, the case and armour of his life, And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! It were an easy thing to crack that nut Or with thy crackers or thy double teeth, So easily may all things be destroy'd ! But 'tis not in the power of mortal man
To mend the fracture of a filbert shell.
There were two great men once amused themselves Watching two maggots run their wriggling race, And wagering on their speed; but Nick, to us
And laugh to see him led by the nose!.. themselves It were no sport to see the pamper'd worm
Led by the nose, embruted, and in the eye
Of Reason from their Nature's purposes
As miserably perverted.
Now could I sonnetize thy piteous plight, And prove how much my sympathetic heart Even for the miseries of a beast can feel, In fourteen lines of sensibility.
But we are told all things were made for Man;
Roll out and then draw in his folds of fat, Like to some Barber's leathern powder-bag Wherewith he feathers, frosts, or cauliflowers Spruce Beau, or Lady fair, or Doctor grave. Enough of dangers and of enemies Hath Nature's wisdom for the worm ordain'd, Increase not thou the number! Him the Mouse Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell's defence, May from his native tenement eject;
Him may the Nut-hatch, piercing with strong bill, Unwittingly destroy; or to his hoard
The Squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack'd.
Man also hath his dangers and his foes
As this poor Maggot hath; and when I muse Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears, The Maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks It were a happy metamorphosis
To be enkernell'd thus: never to hear Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, Kings, Jacobines, and Tax-commissioners; To feel no motion but the wind that shook The Filbert Tree, and rock'd us to our rest; And in the middle of such exquisite food To live luxurious! The perfection this Of snugness! it were to unite at once Hermit retirement, Aldermanic bliss, And Stoic independence of mankind. Westbury, 1799.
DESCRIBED IN RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY.
"How does the Water Come down at Lodore?" My little boy ask'd me Thus, once on a time;
And moreover he task'd me To tell him in rhyme. Anon at the word, There first came one daughter And then came another,
To second and third
The request of their brother, And to hear how the water Comes down at Lodore, With its rush and its roar.
As many a time They had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, For of rhymes I had store: And 'twas in my vocation
For their recreation That so I should sing ; Because I was Laureate To them and the King.
From its sources which well In the Tarn on the fell; From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills;
Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps For awhile, till it sleeps In its own little Lake. And thence at departing, Awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade, And through the wood-shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter,
Hurry-scurry.
Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Now smoaking and frothing It's tumult and wrath in, Till in this rapid race On which it is bent, It reaches the place Of its steep descent.
The Cataract strong Then plunges along, Striking and raging As if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among : Rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping, Swelling and sweeping, Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging, Writhing and ringing, Eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, Turning and twisting, Around and around With endless rebound! Smiting and fighting,
A sight to delight in ; Confounding, astounding,
Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.
Collecting, projecting, Receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, And darting and parting, And threading and spreading, And whizzing and hissing, And dripping and skipping, And hitting and splitting, And shining and twining, And rattling and battling, And shaking and quaking, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, And tossing and crossing, And flowing and going. And running and stunning, And foaming and roaming, And dinning and spinning, And dropping and hopping, And working and jerking, And guggling and struggling, And heaving and cleaving, And moaning and groaning;
And glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, And whitening and brightening, And quivering and shivering, And hurrying and skurrying, And thundering and floundering;
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